


waves are washing me out

by fuckinghoechlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Bottom!Stiles, CIA and stuff, M/M, Safe House AU, Werewolf!Derek, vague description of a panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckinghoechlin/pseuds/fuckinghoechlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rio is wild like Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waves are washing me out

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello, i was planning on doing a multi-chaptered Safe House AU, i ended up writing the epilogue first (this) and then the idea just kind of fell off for a little, but i might write it if anyone likes this or has any interest in a fic with CIA Housekeeper Stiles and rogue agent Derek but yeah okay here goes, thanks for reading!

“Be better than me.”

His name blinks in blocks and green. A picture. A frown edged with spite, and eyes dark, resentful of a world that became everything he hoped it wasn’t. He is wild. From one moment forever stilled, to the weak pulse of his stubborn heart lost in quiet huffs.

_Be better than me._

He remembers. Only eighteen hours and he remembers every second. Every word. Every partial ending. Derek Hale. His first guest.

_Be better than me._

The Sahara at the southernmost tip of Africa. Stumbling, his uncertainty is ruthless, and he needs a plan. He’s desperate, he needs a plan _now_. A few more miles and there’s a Rover, sleek steel streaked with the sluggish red of the man he decides to leave in dusted clay. He could take him, but he doesn’t feel like dragging any more dead weight. He’ll have to stay.

_Be better than me._

The file is a hollow weight in his pocket shifting in time with the formation of a fledgling strategy to lend him some thread of preparedness. The fucking file.

_Be better than me._

He’s polished now and striding with purpose, careful to sound like a still eager housekeeper, memory of his own awe and primal fear watching his guest a flame under his skin, itching in his palms. Now, though, now, he’ll take it from here. One button, one light press and the laundry list makes him public enemy number one, shrinks the shadows that are alive and writhing with the corruption he never guessed at, was embarrassingly oblivious to and he blinks, quietly accepts himself into infamy. He went back on his word.

_Be better than me._

Regretting his promise. But he knew how he would turn, had no doubt about what would happen with the list. Derek knew he was never interested in money. He knew. And now there was no alternative but to find him.

_Be better than me._

Find him through choice. Through pattern, through habit. Pronounced dead through the mutual understanding that he needed to be gone. There was one plan. A single route all the way back to his very beginning.

-

Rio is wild like Derek. Derek Hale, whom Stiles knew, for all his bravado and pride, loved nothing more than to fade into the background, to become white noise, static. Indistinguishable.

He also wants to be found.

And Stiles’ heartbeat doesn’t falter, doesn’t quicken through all the crowds he loses himself in, on any of the cracked, seething streets, not until the rigid line of his shoulders is unmistakable, his neck curved as his head is thrown back with laughter, loud and assured, with some faceless vendor.

Now Stiles is laughing quietly because Derek knows he’s here, can hear the erratic beating in his chest, and Derek turns his head, still grinning, the edges soft in the warm shadows of the city and Stiles is aching, suddenly aware of how afraid he was.

Derek’s hand is on his elbow, mouth smiling against his ear as Stiles’ hands find his hair and the small of his back- “You beautiful, stupid kid- _thank you_.”

Stiles is so relieved he can’t breathe, so filled with want that it’s choking him. He’s surprised at the steadiness of his insistence, “Come on” a firm mantra in Derek’s ear, but the jerkiness of his tugs gives him away and when Derek nudges him in the right direction, Stiles can’t look at the hard frown of understanding forming on his face.

They’re in the door, Derek’s rigid back slammed against it as Stiles is rough and desperate at his mouth, not paying attention to the hollow warmth of the hotel room, unable to spare it any thought, breath gasping in between presses, a sob escaping as Derek holds his head to his shoulder, fingers brushing the back of his neck. Derek’s nose is pressed in his hair, eyes squeezing shut and Stiles can’t stop shaking, the reality of the moment overwhelming and suffocating in the face of the uncertainty he had repressed.

Suddenly hands are behind his thighs, lifting him, and he wraps his legs around Derek’s hips, arms around his neck, burying his face further into Derek’s shoulder. Derek carries him to the bed, sits up against the headboard, Stiles curled in his lap with broad hands spread across his back. He lets Derek nudge his cheek with his nose but he can’t face him, can’t turn his head and look into his concern.

“Stiles, please look at me,” and it’s soft and unassuming and Stiles looks, breathing still panicky, chest tightening when Derek’s forehead presses against his.

“I just- I couldn’t even think of you actually-,” his throat is too tight, “what if-,” his skin is shrinking and the air is so empty, ribs being sucked into his lungs.

He can hear his name shaking through the yellowed pressure against his head, strong fingers on his cheeks and he’s looking into the water flooding his limbs and it’s changing, looking back at him and there’s his name, _Stiles, Stiles, Stiles_ over and over.  He takes a sharp breath and stops, lets it sink into him, give life to the nerve endings numbing in his fingers and he lifts a trembling hand to Derek’s cheek, feels relief brush over his lips as Derek exhales.  Stiles tilts his chin a fraction, presses his mouth to Derek’s, a steady pressure as he comes back into himself and maps Derek’s face under his palms, shivers at the hands on his spine.

Derek’s mumbling something against his mouth, tucking his face under Stiles’ jaw and he feels a quiet rumble against his skin, “I’m sorry, God, Stiles, I’m so sorry,” with pressure along the column of his throat, the hinge of his jaw, and Stiles just threads his fingers through Derek’s hair, kneading into his scalp as he waits.

Derek eventually finds his mouth again, meets it with Stiles’ earlier urgency, nipping gently at his lower lip and Stiles presses into his mouth tasting wood smoke and the sharpness of the grey light of dawn and something shifts in him, pushes him forward, aching to sink into Derek’s skin lined with scars puckered over wounds too deep to heal, jagged reminders of what Stiles has to be afraid of, but Derek is thrumming warm and alive beneath him and Stiles pushes forward again into his chest.

He feels Derek’s hands slide under his shirt, nails pressing into his shoulder blades and Stiles rocks forward, chasing friction, and Derek rumbles under him, surging forward to pin Stiles’ hips between his knees, bracket his head with his forearms and Stiles’ eyes roll back at the sting of teeth at his throat. “God, Derek,” and he loses the rest of it in the drag of Derek’s hips and the scratch of his chin against his chest as he sucks at the skin above the collar of his shirt. Stiles starts pulling at the hem of Derek’s who pulls back long enough to tug it over his head and Stiles is dizzy with how badly he wants to lick at his exposed skin, mark the sharp dip of his throat between his collarbones even though it’ll fade almost instantly.

Derek takes the bottom of Stiles’ shirt in his teeth, dragging it up his torso while taking care to scrape his chin against his stomach and Stiles stutters out a string of curses, pulling at his shoulders to bring his mouth back to his as he fumbles with Derek’s belt, pausing once it’s undone to press his fingers against his length through his jeans. Derek hisses out a breath in surprise and yanks at Stiles’ own jeans and Stiles can’t help the tremor that goes through him as he watches Derek’s eyes darken, lids heavy when he leans down to nose at the dark trail of hair on Stiles’ belly.

Just before Derek’s mouth reaches his cock, Stiles makes an impatient noise as he remembers Derek is still partially clothed and he pushes at his shoulders, grips his chin, “Oh no wait hold on, no come on, pants off, _now,_ are you kidding me,” and Derek shoves away from him, pulling his jeans off roughly before stalking back between Stiles’ spread legs, dipping his head to lick a stripe up Stiles’ length, and Stiles lets out a high keening noise as he watches Derek’s lips stretch around him, pale pink and shiny with his own spit at the corners.

Stiles needs him closer, mindlessly thrusts up into his mouth and Derek hums around him, bobs his head lower and the drag of his tongue is so slow and so _good_ and Stiles clutches at the sheets, watching Derek through heavy, slitted eyes. He moves one hand to fist Derek’s hair, tugging just a little and Derek gives a small groan before pulling away with a wet _pop_ and suddenly Stiles is pinned against the sheets again before Derek gathers him in his arms, places him in his lap. Their cocks brush as Derek bites his shoulder and it’s almost too much, Stiles panting out, “Need you, oh god need you right now, _please_ ,” Derek biting harder and Stiles feels the press of fingers against his hole, hisses at the rough friction as Derek moves them in and out, careful, scissoring him open, breath ghosting against his ear.

There’s a prickling of teeth that are just barely too sharp at his neck before he registers the cold trickle of lube against his skin and suddenly Stiles needs it so badly he’s shuddering, moan almost a sob because he almost didn’t have this, could have lost-

The thought fizzles out with the rough shove of Derek’s hips, slow slide of his cock dragging all of Stiles’ rabbiting attention to Derek and he’s so _full_ and his chest heaves against Derek’s. They pause, breathing together, Stiles able to feel Derek’s stomach twitching with the effort to stay still, tellingly sharp nails pricking against his ribs, needlepoints that make his blood thrum and then he’s on fire, pushing back against Derek with a soft whine of encouragement. “Please, move, come on, I _need_ you.”

He can’t look away from the ice bleeding into Derek’s eyes, presses his lips to the furrowed crease between his eyebrows, brushing his mouth through the dark hair on his jaw as he presses his fingertips into Derek’s back, the drag of his nails earning a raw, guttural noise that Stiles answers with a whine and a roll of his hips.

 Derek’s lost, Stiles can feel it when he presses his mouth to the rumble in Derek’s throat, in the stutter of his hips when Stiles sucks at his shoulder, and Stiles is whispering into his ear, soothing him, “I’d follow you anywhere, _God_ , I would’ve searched forever,” and Derek’s breath is quicker in his hair, fingers bruising at his waist, panting out Stiles’ name, broken and over and over, not quite in time with his thrusts. Stiles’ veins spark with the relentless pressure of Derek inside him, “ _Fuck_ , fuck fuck fuck,” stuttering out when Derek angles himself perfectly, “Oh my god _, harder_ , right fucking there _, please_ ,” and Derek growls into his mouth as Stiles clenches around him.

“You’re so fucking- can’t believe-I need you forever, just like this, fuck, _Stiles_ ,” and something’s unfurling in Stiles’ spine as he presses impossibly closer, mouthing any skin he can reach and Derek keeps whispering furiously into his neck.

“I love you, too, oh _oh_ ,” and he’s kissing Derek with everything he has left to give, sharp sensation of teeth almost painful as he threads long fingers into Derek’s damp hair and yanks back, biting into Derek’s exposed throat hard enough to mark, even for a second, and Derek snarls, raw and inhuman and Stiles whites out as he feels a new warmth inside him, falls forward into Derek’s chest as he drags his lips over his face, muttering unintelligibly, but Stiles can feel the words, presses his answer weakly into where his hands settled against Derek’s back, breathing “Always, always,” against the shell of his ear.

Derek thrusts weakly, once, twice, almost as though he wants to push his come further inside and Stiles hooks his arms around Derek’s neck, guides him into the mattress onto his side, tangles their legs and presses their foreheads together and it’s so warm he feels like he’s too big for his skin, a quiet hum settling into his bones and weighing them down.

He shifts around Derek still inside him, watching the blue in his eyes flicker, “I love you so much,” soft and he aches with it, at how Derek’s eyes flutter shut, arms tightening and he presses his mouth to Stiles’, breathes, “I’m so sorry. I love you, too, god- give me forever, I’ll figure out how to make it up to you,” and Stiles huffs, feels Derek’s lip quirk up and they laugh together in the quiet, in the soft orange of Rio outside, in the muted blue of forever.

**Author's Note:**

> not totally satisfied with the last paragraph or so, but thanks again for reading!  
> tumblr is still mrspoooo0ooky bc the halloween spirit has yet to leave me, apparently  
> still working on How Sharp, btw
> 
> fic title is from "Swim Good" by Frank Ocean


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